The Year in the Letters
by LikeMulderandScully
Summary: Booth and Brennan will spend a year far apart, but it does not follow that they wouldn't correspond. The "atta-girl kinda love letters".
1. Chapter 1

When the first letter arrived it was almost illegible. She had gotten letters on-site before, but this was the worst looking one yet. The weeks of travel that poor envelope had suffered were more than any piece of paper could reasonably have been supposed to endure. Dirt, water damage and other mysterious stains marred the once clean surface where her partner, her friend, had carefully addressed the regulation size-army-issue envelope.

She shook her head and smiled, running her fingers across the crinkled paper as Daisy skipped away, happily grinning because of her own slightly desecrated letter from "Lancelot"; Hodgins would love this. She would keep that poor envelope for him, and treasure it's contents herself.

She looked at all the postage markings, marveling at all the places through which the letter had traveled to get to her, from him. 4,500 miles from Afghanistan; over two oceans and two continents-- but here it was. The first letter. She slowly slid her index finger under the sealed corner and carefully split the top seam, an unexpectedly intense sense of anticipation mixed with apprehension welling up within her.

Grains of desert sand lightly dusted her thighs as she removed the single sheet of loose-leaf paper. As she unfolded it and got her first proper look at the letter she chuckled to herself. The most prominent stain was on the inside-- Booth had spilled coffee on it. An unexpected thrill ran through her as she recognized the all-too-familiar scrawl of his handwriting.

_Bones,_

_ Greetings from the desert! (I'm sure I sent you some of it too. Damn sand gets everywhere.). I am well and as safe as I can be in a war-zone. I'm even getting used to the heat, as I've spent most of my days in a makeshift classroom with corporals, staff sergeants and no air conditioning. This should go without saying, but I miss you. A lot. After five years, it is so strange knowing how far away you are from me. Though, despite the actual miles between us, you are not really so far away from me. I catch myself thinking of something you would say or do all the time. Like last week you would have corrected Staff Sergeant Jones' explanation of deductive reasoning without a second of hesitation. _

_So, Bones, have you changed history yet? Well, I should say again, because of that whole mummy thing. I want to hear about your work, even if I don't understand a word of it. I'm sure you are having the time of your life with Daisy and the skeletons. Speaking of which, how is everybody? Have you heard from anyone? All I've gotten so far is a card from Parker with a huge baseball on the front._

_This situation, this big change, gets easier for me every day. Not because I am getting used to it, but because each day that passes brings me further into this year and closer to the end of it._

_The work we do this year is un-selfish. It is for the greater good, and I am proud of both of us for making the right decision; though I fully intend on being a little selfish when we get home, just to make up for it._

_I have no idea how long this will take to get to you, and I'm sorry this letter is kind of short. But hey, I've got a whole year to get better at writing them._

_-Booth_

_P.S. The coffee stain will make you laugh, even though it was an accident._


	2. Chapter 2

When the first reply arrived, after weeks of waiting, his heart turned violently. It was a physical reaction to the concrete confirmation that Bones, his Bones, was alive and well.

This intense reaction would have scared the crap out of him two years ago. He'd spent so long denying his love for her and stuffing the feelings down inside, but that was all over now. He still loved her; he knew he always would, and because it was out in the open he could finally allow himself to fully feel it. It was a rich feeling, one that could fill his entire being and overpower everything else. It was nice to have something like that in this environment, where negative emotions reigned strong.

He took his mail from the private and returned the young man's salute as he walked away, on to his next delivery. He ducked into his makeshift office, shutting the door to ensure a modest amount of privacy as he enjoyed the letter. He sat down in the ancient desk chair, metal, not leather, squishy and swivel-ly like the lovely office chair sitting in FBI office storage back home. He missed that chair every time he sat down.

The envelope was made of a brown waxy card stock, and despite the obvious beating it had taken on it's long journey from the islands, it was completely intact. Bones was so thoroughly practical; he smiled at the familiar thought. He tore the top perforated strip off, and tilted the envelope downward, allowing the letter to slide free onto the fake wooden top of his bare desk. He immediately decided that her letters would be the only decoration this desk ever needed.

He could tell that her stationary was expensive. The two sheets of thick paper felt smooth in his hands as he flattened out the slight waves caused by the moisture they'd accumulated during their time in the jungle with Bones.

This was the best letter he'd ever gotten, and he hadn't even read it yet. He unfolded the paper and his heart turned over again when he saw her familiar script dancing across the unlined paper in precise stripes of black ink.

_Dear Booth,_

_I am glad to hear that you are doing well; I catch myself worrying about you sometimes even though that's quite illogical seeing as I have no knowledge of your being in danger._

_The coffee stain made me laugh just as you thought it would, and the accompanying sand was humorus too. Or Humerus? Like the bone. I just did it again! That is, made a lame joke like you always do. I've been doing that in my head ever since I left, apparently my brain is reflexively compensating for the dearth of bad puns in Maluku. _

_Thank you for writing to me. Recieving your letter was a revelation. It made me realize that the strange feeling I've been carrying around with me since I left Washington isn't nervousness after all. I knew it couldn't be nervousness, but that was the only theory I had. I mean, isn't it you that said: "Bones doesn't intimidate:"? You might be able to guess what this feeling was- you and your gut instincts. I realized that I miss you. I've never missed someone like this before, and it certainly isn't a pleasant feeling._

_I miss your presence. I miss you and Angela, because you both know me so well. Coming here is strange, getting used to a job where my colleagues only know me professionally; not at all like our Jeffersonian 'family' at home. _

_I have heard only from you and our ex-patriate contingent- Angela and Hodgins. They sent me a postcard, which Hodgins had laminated to ensure that it got here in one piece. They are enjoying Paris and the surrounding country "even more than you could imagine" Well, it is widely considered the most beautiful city on earth. Maybe we will work a case there someday together; you would love their food- and unlike the English, the French like coffee just as much as you do._

_As I read your letter I imagined the desert. I long for any dry air, the humidity here is overpowering and combined with the daily rain showers I have had trouble keeping my clothes dry… it seems as if everything here in the island jungle is perpetually damp. As regards the research, there is nothing much to report, archeology is a very slow tedious discipline; you wouldn't be patient enough for it. There are even times I run out of patience for it. However much I'd like you to be here, I can just imagine how bothered you would be with the pace- you'd stand over my shoulder and ask what I was doing every ten minutes- or complain and want to go to the beach because 'Skeletor here isn't getting any dead-er'. I'm just teasing of course, and the beaches on these islands are so beautiful you never want to leave. I'll try and send you some pictures if I can._

_-Bones_

_P.s. If you are wondering what the smudge in the second paragraph is- well it used to be a bug. Hodgins would have know what kind.  
_

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_Review! -I promise the next one won't take as long, haha._  
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